Page 136 of Proposal Play
When I finally reach Mrs. Callahan at the end of the corridor, I tug playfully on her jersey then plant a kiss on her cheek. She startles with a soft “oh,” then touches the spot where my lips just were. “Hey, you.”
“Hey,” I reply, as the scent of her sweet plum body spray works its magic. I’m unable to resist her. I drop another kiss to her lips, quick but lingering, savoring the feel of her. Maeve at my game, sitting with my dads—it’s perfect. Absolutely perfect.
I turn to my dads. “Glad you guys could make it. Especially since I was pretty fucking good tonight.”
“Language,” John chides.
“J-dad, where do you think I learned it?”
Carlos gasps in mock surprise. “Babe,” he says to John.
He just shrugs but smiles as he says, “Can we take you two out for a bite to eat?”
It’s said like that’s all the two of them could want—time with Maeve and me. I glance at Maeve, and her eyes are already shining with a yes.
“Sounds great,” I say.
As the four of us slide into a booth at Sticks and Stones a little later and order a late dinner, I can’t shake the feeling that this is the happiest I’ve ever seen her, laughing and teasing, talking and eating. I’d do just about anything to bottle this moment, to recreate it for her—to give her the moon.
The door clicks shut behind us as we step into the quiet of the house, heading up from the garage, leaving the cool night air behind. After we toe off our shoes, we head to the kitchen, like we both feel an inevitable pull to keep the evening going—or really, the talking. I toss my suit jacket on the back of a stool. She sheds her jacket, the jersey still on. Flicking on the light, she leans against the cool, marble countertop, the soft hum of the fridge filling the silence for a moment. There’s a warmth in the air that wasn’t there outside, and her small, thoughtful smile tells me she’s still replaying the evening in her mind.
“Did you have a nice time?” I ask, moving closer, my fingers brushing the hem of her shirt.
“I did,” she says with a nod. “Your dads are…really wonderful. They made me feel so welcome.” She hesitates, her expression shifting, more pensive now. “It kind of made me miss my parents.”
There’s a twinge in my chest, one I’ve felt before when we’ve talked about them. I can’t imagine what she went through. It’s my worst fear—losing the people I love. I’ve asked her this before—of course I have—but I ask again anyway. “Do you miss them a lot?”
“I do,” she admits quietly. “Especially in moments like this, when everything feels so…cozy, you know? I’m really glad I had tonight, but yeah—sometimes I just wish they were here to do these normal things too. See a game. Have dinner.” There’s a pause, then she swallows roughly, almost choking out the next words. “See my mirrors. Check out the mural.” She draws a steadying breath. “Isn’t that selfish?”
I reach for her shoulders, cupping them, rubbing them. “Are you kidding me? No. I love when my dads see me play. Of course you wish your parents could see your work. You put so much into your art, and they’d be so proud of you.” I never met them, but I know this deep in my bones. They’d be so amazed by the woman she became.
“You think so?”
“I know so,” I say with utter confidence. “Your mom wanted you to follow your dreams. You did follow them. You still do. You keep doing it. Every single day.”
“She wanted that for me, you know?” she says softly, then her brow knits again. “That book of hers?”
“If Found, Please Return?” I ask, thinking of the one on the nightstand.
“Sometimes I read passages again, looking for amessage from her.” She sighs, closing her eyes, maybe ashamed. “That is why sometimes I think I hold on too tight.” She opens her eyes, and those hazel irises are etched with such vulnerability that my heart slams harder against my chest. “Isn’t that silly?”
I ache for her. “No. I think it’s normal to want to find that connection. Even now. Even when they’re gone. You want to feel like they’re still talking to you.”
“I really do,” she says. She pauses, biting her lip, as if weighing her next words. Then, with a nervous laugh, she asks, “Was that too much to tell you? About missing them? About the book?”
Scoffing, I shake my head immediately. “No. Not at all. I want to know. I want to know everything you want to share.” My voice is firmer now, certain. “And I’d feel the same way.”
“You would?”
“I would. I’d look for signs too, Maeve,” I say then take a moment to collect my thoughts. I want to say the right thing. “I’d want…I don’t know, a sense that they aren’t forgotten. I kind of do that now, maybe preemptively. Maybe that’s why I hunt out luck—good luck charms, stepping right foot first onto a plane. Maybe I do that because I want signs somehow that I’ll keep this luck. I’ve done that ever since Nora died.”
“Do you feel lucky? Like it could have been you? That you weren’t riding with her?”
I’ve never been a bike rider, so no, I didn’t join her for that training ride. But I’m acutely aware that things can change in a split second. Someone can be here today and gone the next second. “No. But losing a friend—someone I wanted to stay friends with—made me want to holdonto…what I have.” But perhaps, it’s deeper than that. Maybe it goes further back. This sense of holding onto what I have. Because I don’t actively miss Nora. But I do feel that too-familiar heaviness of loss at times. I venture on, stepping into territory I rarely visit. “When I was fourteen, I thought John was going to die.” The words come out quietly, almost cautiously, and I realize I’ve never told her this before.
“Asher,” she says softly, reaching for me, her hands on my arms. “What happened?”
“He had this health scare. Well, he’d been having a lot of them. But this time was worse. One day after hockey practice, he wasn’t just dizzy or faint. He was having heart palpitations. Like, this really uneven and way-too-fast heartbeat. His breath was short; he complained of chest pain. It happened while he was driving so he swerved, but managed to pull over and I could have called 911. But I didn’t even think there was time to wait. I had to drive him to the hospital. It was just the two of us…”